Disclaimer: In the great and wonderful words of Grinning Reaper.......
WHEN I OWN THE WORLD.......................THEY WILL BE *MINE*!!!!!
MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
______________________________________________________________
CHAPTER ONE--
The New Girl
Added on: 2003/04/16
November 14, 2000 A.F. (After The Fallen)
Well, it looks like I finally get a chance to write you, journal. It certainly has been along time. I've got some news to report. The Shallows' got newer kids coming in from Western March. That's over in the Western Kingdom of Nephlihelm, where King Roscoe reigns. What wouldn't I give to be there!
It's better than being here with the Dursleys. Of course, it's made bearable because of Ron. If I didn't have him....yesh. Although, he's been sort of down nowadays. That's probably because Fred and George are of the legal age to get out an orphanage. They've gone off to live with Percy in New Landen. Me and Ron are stuck here for two years! I can't wait to turn sixteen, strike out on my own and see where the road takes me.
Anyway, I've got some good news. Well, I don't know if it's good for the Dursleys, but who cares!
Yesterday, when Ron, me and Neville Longbottom ( he's a great guy, just clumsy as an elephant!) were sent to clean the gutters and the roof of the orphanage, we'd heard this strange sound, coming from one of the abandoned fire chimneys. What we found in there was extrordinary! There was this beautiful snowy-white owl with intelligent eyes and and soft feathers, wings spread wide, mouth hanging dangerously open, trying to kill this grundy old rat.
Ron got to the rat first, while I distracted the owl. She seemed to glare at me as if to say, "now why'd you go and do that for?" Then she flew off in a shower of white feathers and loud hoots. We took the rat inside and Ron drenched him with yellow paint.
Any way, I should probably stop writing now, journal. The Dursleys are calling us down for scraps. And I do mean scraps because there's hardly anything left when Dudley finishes. It makes me wonder, why in hell would the Dursleys want to run an ophanage like The Privet Shallows if they think we other kids are all a bunch of little "pig dropping's" that'll hurt their poor Dudders.
Dudley's as big as a walrus and eats more than one too. What makes uncle Vernon think we'll try to take that on?
Your's
Harry J. Potter
*******
Harry, fifteen with a mop of messy black hair, pale features and a pair of glasses in bad need of repair, cracked his knuckles and groaned, his fingers strained from writing. His emerald green eyes focused on the retreating bodies of the other kids as they ventured down the long winding steps of Privet Shallows. The only orphanage of Highsten's Reach, and the only one within the region for ten miles. There were alot of kids here.
Harry lay back on his bed, nonplussed about his Aunt Petunia's bawling voice nor the gong she used to summon the children from their dorms. His aunt and uncle didn't like to see him much anyway. He, instead, stared up at the the small dorm he shared with other children or teens, like himself, boys and girls. The walls were colored with faded gold and red tapestries that he, Ron and Neville salvaged from some old manor some miles out of Highsten's.
The place had looked crappier than The Shallows' shambling three stories, weeds overwrought along its old paths, dust having settled on the windows, obscuring the insides. Neville had sworn the place was haunted and vouched to stay outside as lookout, with, of course, Trevor, his pet frog. Harry and Ron hadn't had a problem with this. The manor was just begging to be explored.
Every room sat with a fine cover of dust, lying untouched for nearly a decade. The old furniture left behind smelled like musk and mothballs. They'd ventured into the long dining hall, an expensive ballroom with tiled floors, and then into a large library. There they found the tapetries.
Harry grinned at the remembrance of it. Of him and Ron running out of the house carrying proudly the red and gold fabrics, of Neville screaming in fear having thought then the ghosts of old kings, and them chasing him all the way back to The Shallows. That had been a glorious time.
"Hey, Harry," came the urgent call. Harry's green eyes went to the door way. Ron stood there, looking nervous, his red hair framing his face like fire. Harry sat up, then stood. "The Dursleys, they'll be calling up and down the rows for food soon. Better hurry."
"Right, Ron," he replied with a smile and accompanied his best friend down the stairs.
"Did you hear?" Ron asked turning to him, excitement on his voice. "There's going to be new arrivals!"
"I know," Harry informed him. "Wonder what they'll be like. Got any clues?"
Ron looked frowned for a moment, his birthmark, a patch of skin that looked like a light sprinkling of smeared dirt, wrinkled.
"No idea," Ron replied a bit flushed. "If Percy were still here, he'd know."
"Don't dwell on it, Ron," Harry warned. "You know how you get. Besides, my aunt's roaring."
And sure enough there was a highpitched yell from down the steps. Both teens picked up their paces, nearly running down the steps. They arrived in the mess just in time. The two friends sat on opposite sides of Neville. The boy looked up, but he wasn't too pleased. More like borderline distressed.
"They're here, " he sqeaked and bowed his head. Harry turned to a girl at their table.
"Who-"
"The new arrivals," she hissed and shushed Harry quiet. Immediately he fell to silence as his uncle Vernon, arrayed in the thick tunic of a blacksmith, trousers and large boots, stood at the head of the room.
His voice bellowed when he spoke," Alright, you muskrats, as you've probably heard there are a whole new batch of wenches just in from Snow's Landing, north of here. I expect everything less from you, show the wenches the ropes and there'll be no trouble!"
There was no thumping cheer as Vernon stepped aside and the newer children poured in from the cool fall air outside. They were all bundled in thick furs and boots. Harry craned his head to see. The group was about twenty or twenty-five, and they all stood up front uncertainly until, finally, someone stepped forward and shed off their heavy coat. It was a girl with thick brown hair and inquisitive features.
She looked around for a brief moment, unsure, then noticing Harry's curious looks at the group, she walked over to their table and took an empty seat beside Ron. His cheeks flushed bright red. It was a pioneer effect. Taking from her example, the other children moved, shrugging off their coats and taking seats at the tables they thought befit them. That was when Harry noticed how cliquish they were.
Of course, The Shallows had always had its own groups, four to be exact. And those groups even had funny names the children coined from olden towns that were within the region. The table at the far left of the hall was Slytherin territory, and they were a sneaky, cruel bunch anyway. Harry's table, next to their's, was Gryffindor. The next was Hufflepuff and the last, Ravenclaw.
"Hallo, my name is Hermione Granger," came the curt introduction. Harry turned to the direction of the voice and noticed it was the brown-haired girl. He smiled and nodded.
"Harry Potter."
WHEN I OWN THE WORLD.......................THEY WILL BE *MINE*!!!!!
MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
______________________________________________________________
CHAPTER ONE--
The New Girl
Added on: 2003/04/16
November 14, 2000 A.F. (After The Fallen)
Well, it looks like I finally get a chance to write you, journal. It certainly has been along time. I've got some news to report. The Shallows' got newer kids coming in from Western March. That's over in the Western Kingdom of Nephlihelm, where King Roscoe reigns. What wouldn't I give to be there!
It's better than being here with the Dursleys. Of course, it's made bearable because of Ron. If I didn't have him....yesh. Although, he's been sort of down nowadays. That's probably because Fred and George are of the legal age to get out an orphanage. They've gone off to live with Percy in New Landen. Me and Ron are stuck here for two years! I can't wait to turn sixteen, strike out on my own and see where the road takes me.
Anyway, I've got some good news. Well, I don't know if it's good for the Dursleys, but who cares!
Yesterday, when Ron, me and Neville Longbottom ( he's a great guy, just clumsy as an elephant!) were sent to clean the gutters and the roof of the orphanage, we'd heard this strange sound, coming from one of the abandoned fire chimneys. What we found in there was extrordinary! There was this beautiful snowy-white owl with intelligent eyes and and soft feathers, wings spread wide, mouth hanging dangerously open, trying to kill this grundy old rat.
Ron got to the rat first, while I distracted the owl. She seemed to glare at me as if to say, "now why'd you go and do that for?" Then she flew off in a shower of white feathers and loud hoots. We took the rat inside and Ron drenched him with yellow paint.
Any way, I should probably stop writing now, journal. The Dursleys are calling us down for scraps. And I do mean scraps because there's hardly anything left when Dudley finishes. It makes me wonder, why in hell would the Dursleys want to run an ophanage like The Privet Shallows if they think we other kids are all a bunch of little "pig dropping's" that'll hurt their poor Dudders.
Dudley's as big as a walrus and eats more than one too. What makes uncle Vernon think we'll try to take that on?
Your's
Harry J. Potter
*******
Harry, fifteen with a mop of messy black hair, pale features and a pair of glasses in bad need of repair, cracked his knuckles and groaned, his fingers strained from writing. His emerald green eyes focused on the retreating bodies of the other kids as they ventured down the long winding steps of Privet Shallows. The only orphanage of Highsten's Reach, and the only one within the region for ten miles. There were alot of kids here.
Harry lay back on his bed, nonplussed about his Aunt Petunia's bawling voice nor the gong she used to summon the children from their dorms. His aunt and uncle didn't like to see him much anyway. He, instead, stared up at the the small dorm he shared with other children or teens, like himself, boys and girls. The walls were colored with faded gold and red tapestries that he, Ron and Neville salvaged from some old manor some miles out of Highsten's.
The place had looked crappier than The Shallows' shambling three stories, weeds overwrought along its old paths, dust having settled on the windows, obscuring the insides. Neville had sworn the place was haunted and vouched to stay outside as lookout, with, of course, Trevor, his pet frog. Harry and Ron hadn't had a problem with this. The manor was just begging to be explored.
Every room sat with a fine cover of dust, lying untouched for nearly a decade. The old furniture left behind smelled like musk and mothballs. They'd ventured into the long dining hall, an expensive ballroom with tiled floors, and then into a large library. There they found the tapetries.
Harry grinned at the remembrance of it. Of him and Ron running out of the house carrying proudly the red and gold fabrics, of Neville screaming in fear having thought then the ghosts of old kings, and them chasing him all the way back to The Shallows. That had been a glorious time.
"Hey, Harry," came the urgent call. Harry's green eyes went to the door way. Ron stood there, looking nervous, his red hair framing his face like fire. Harry sat up, then stood. "The Dursleys, they'll be calling up and down the rows for food soon. Better hurry."
"Right, Ron," he replied with a smile and accompanied his best friend down the stairs.
"Did you hear?" Ron asked turning to him, excitement on his voice. "There's going to be new arrivals!"
"I know," Harry informed him. "Wonder what they'll be like. Got any clues?"
Ron looked frowned for a moment, his birthmark, a patch of skin that looked like a light sprinkling of smeared dirt, wrinkled.
"No idea," Ron replied a bit flushed. "If Percy were still here, he'd know."
"Don't dwell on it, Ron," Harry warned. "You know how you get. Besides, my aunt's roaring."
And sure enough there was a highpitched yell from down the steps. Both teens picked up their paces, nearly running down the steps. They arrived in the mess just in time. The two friends sat on opposite sides of Neville. The boy looked up, but he wasn't too pleased. More like borderline distressed.
"They're here, " he sqeaked and bowed his head. Harry turned to a girl at their table.
"Who-"
"The new arrivals," she hissed and shushed Harry quiet. Immediately he fell to silence as his uncle Vernon, arrayed in the thick tunic of a blacksmith, trousers and large boots, stood at the head of the room.
His voice bellowed when he spoke," Alright, you muskrats, as you've probably heard there are a whole new batch of wenches just in from Snow's Landing, north of here. I expect everything less from you, show the wenches the ropes and there'll be no trouble!"
There was no thumping cheer as Vernon stepped aside and the newer children poured in from the cool fall air outside. They were all bundled in thick furs and boots. Harry craned his head to see. The group was about twenty or twenty-five, and they all stood up front uncertainly until, finally, someone stepped forward and shed off their heavy coat. It was a girl with thick brown hair and inquisitive features.
She looked around for a brief moment, unsure, then noticing Harry's curious looks at the group, she walked over to their table and took an empty seat beside Ron. His cheeks flushed bright red. It was a pioneer effect. Taking from her example, the other children moved, shrugging off their coats and taking seats at the tables they thought befit them. That was when Harry noticed how cliquish they were.
Of course, The Shallows had always had its own groups, four to be exact. And those groups even had funny names the children coined from olden towns that were within the region. The table at the far left of the hall was Slytherin territory, and they were a sneaky, cruel bunch anyway. Harry's table, next to their's, was Gryffindor. The next was Hufflepuff and the last, Ravenclaw.
"Hallo, my name is Hermione Granger," came the curt introduction. Harry turned to the direction of the voice and noticed it was the brown-haired girl. He smiled and nodded.
"Harry Potter."